


The Art of Communication

by SomewhereApart



Series: Breaking In [2]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, oqsmutweek
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-16
Updated: 2018-03-25
Packaged: 2018-12-30 10:05:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12106350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomewhereApart/pseuds/SomewhereApart
Summary: Regina learns about the perils of message previews, the importance of will power, and Robin's way with words. Oh, and a certain social media platform. Breaking In verse. Now an open verse addition to Breaking In, with standalone chapters.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set in the Breaking In-verse, for OQ smut week, prompt: "After being teased all day with sexts and pictures

On a Thursday morning in September, Regina Mills gets her first ever unsolicited dick pic. In a meeting. With her employer. And the man who is obsessed with her. And her sometimes-friend-sometimes-rival.

They're going over some of the finer points of the transition in the TLK account, and it's headache-inducing enough as it is without the regular buzzing of her cell phone near her elbow, so Regina is, quite frankly, ignoring him.

Robin has been flirting with her since he woke up twenty minutes ago – teasing messages, ridiculously overblown compliments that are meant to make her laugh, or smile, no doubt. And they've all been fairly tame, so she doesn't think anything of the way her phone is resting face up next to her legal pad, no more than six inches from Mal's lazily drumming fingertips.

At least, she doesn't until Mal slides her elbow over just a few inches closer, and offers up a quiet—but pointed—clearing of her throat. Regina glances over and meets Mal's waiting gaze, which flicks immediately down to the phone between them as soon as she knows she has Regina's attention.

When Regina follows, her own eyes pop wide at what she sees.

Robin's flirtation has become a bit more, uh… explicit, and her screen is covered in messages:

_I know it's only been a few days but I can't wait to have you again_

_All I can bloody think about_

_Thinking about how you taste, the way you moan when I suck your clit the way you like_

_The way you feel all wrapped around my cock_

_Wanna make you cum again, babe. Wanna feel how wet I make you – are you wet now, luv?_

_Sitting at your desk, thinking of me?_

_Do you know what I'm doing?_

And then, at the very top of the list, a picture—and she thanks God above that the photo preview is just a tiny thumbnail, but thumbnail or not, the contents of the photo are obvious: Robin's hand wrapped around his very erect cock. And nothing else.

Her mouth goes dry, heat chasing mortification up the back of her neck, flaming over her cheeks as Mal murmurs a nearly inaudible, "You might want to turn your phone over…"

Regina does, wordlessly, with only one thought in her panicked mind:  _She's going to fucking kill him._

**.::.**

By the time her meeting is over, three more photos have found their way onto her phone – no, scratch that, two photos and a video. The video she doesn't dare to watch, even in the relative safety of her office (the walls are  _glass_ , she can't watch  _that_  at work), but the thumbnail is a motion-blurred photo of Robin's hand mid-stroke, so she can only  _imagine_  what the full ten seconds holds. The other two photos are of Robin's hand resting loosely around the base of his cock, a puddle of cum visible on his belly, and of his sleepy, sated, smiling face.

And there's another text:  _Miss you_

She's  _pissed_.

And also… damp. Wet.  _At work_.

And she's going to call him and tell him exactly why – why she's pissed, not why she's wet. He doesn't need to know  _that_ , it will only encourage him.

So she shuts her office door, and pulls up their messages again, flips through them—for ammo, to tell him exactly the kind of images he cannot be sending her  _during her workday_. Not at all because the sight of his own hand wrapped around him while he jerks off to the thought of her turns her on immensely.

Because it doesn't.

And she doesn't at all mean for her thumb to land on the little play button of that video either, it's just a fluke, just a poorly placed swipe as she intends to move past it, but then it's playing, and the sound of his quiet groans spills from the phone.

She mutters, "Shit!" and punches her volume down immediately, until the video is silent. And then she cradles it in her lap, hides it between her palms, and watches the steady stroke of his hand updown updown updown...

Her heart is thudding, her skin hot, she shouldn't be  _doing_  this – watching porn at work. At her desk. Watching her lover jerk himself off for ten whole seconds, the rhythm mesmerizing, the speed of his strokes picking up ever so slightly.

It ends just as abruptly as it started, and she is absolutely  _not_  disappointed that it ends before he finishes. She's not, because the video is inappropriate, and out of line, and God, she wants him again, that sneaky, dirty bastard.

She hits play again, and sweats out another viewing of the whole ten seconds, only this time she eases the volume up two clicks – low enough that even she can barely hear it, much less anyone outside her closed office door.

He groans her name halfway through, and she clamps her lip between her teeth as her thighs clench.

Watching this again with the sound on was a bad idea.

It's only – God, not even noon – and he has a shift at the Rabbit Hole tonight. This slippery ache between her thighs has no hope of satisfaction for hours, days.

Bastard.

After the last frame wobbles and comes to a stop, Regina taps his contact, and hits call, turning her chair slightly away from the door, in case anyone out in the bullpen has managed to learn to lipread.

Robin picks up after two rings, giving her a smug, satisfied, "Hello, love," in greeting.

" _You cannot send me porn at work_ ," is the hissed missive he gets in reply. "I was in a  _meeting._ With my  _boss_."

"Oh," he says, and then, "Oops." At least he sounds genuinely apologetic. "Did he see it?"

"No, he didn't," she tells him primly. "But Mal did."

"I see… All of it?"

"No, just all the text notifications, and the first photo – which is plenty, and far more than anybody I work with needs to know about my personal life."

"You should turn off your notification previews," Robin tells her simply, and Regina seethes (and throbs, pressing her thighs together).

"You should  _tell me_  if you're going to start  _sexting_  me at  _work_ ," Regina whispers heatedly.

"Regina?" he says, and then, "I'm going to start sexting you at work."

She scoffs, eyes rolling heavenward as she shakes her head (and makes a mental note to turn off her message previews as soon as they hang up the phone).

"No, you're not," she tells him, and she can practically hear his pout as he asks her,  _Why not?_ "Because it's inappropriate. Because we could get caught, and I'd have to quit my job and set myself on fire out of embarrassment."

He makes this little hum, and then says, "I was hoping you'd say because it got you all hot and bothered in the middle of the day."

That too, she thinks. But she's sure as hell not going to voice it.

As a result, she stays silent just a bit too long – long enough for him to ask in this low voice that  _does things_  to her when it sounds against her ear: "Are you wet, love?"

"I'm working," she tells him, firmly.

But he hears it for the non-answer it is, and simply points out, "Not what I asked, babe."

She huffs out a breath and drops her voice even  _lower_ , whispering fiercely, "I am not having phone sex with you in my office."

"I don't recall asking you to," he says casually. "But I must admit, I'm a bit disappointed I'm not there with you right now. Because you still haven't answered my question, which makes me think the answer is yes. And if I was there, I could just… slip under your desk, tug that chair in close and push your—"

"Robin, stop it!" she hisses.

"Why?"

"I'm  _working_."

"Not right now, you're not. Right now, you're talking to me."

She rolls her eyes. "Not about this."

"You're no fun," he pouts, and how did she end up sleeping with such a child? "What's the harm in a little midday sexting, hmm?"

She shouldn't. She absolutely shouldn't. But she can't help herself, can't help the rush of words bitten off one by one: "Because it got me all hot and bothered in the middle of the day." She ignores his chuckle as she says, "And there's nothing I can do about it. And it's embarrassing."

"Why is it embarrassing? It's like a naughty little secret; nobody knows but us."

And Mal, but he conveniently forgets to mention that, doesn't he?

" _I_  know," she insists. "And I don't want to read about you eating me out while I'm sitting two feet from one man I've known since I was a child, and another who probably wants me to  _have_  his child. They might not know, but I do, and being aroused around them is… uncomfortable."

"I see… Are you back in your office now?"

"No, I'm talking about my arousal in the middle of the conference room," she deadpans. "I made a bar graph about my horniness, it's on the projector screen right now."

Robin snorts a little on the other end of the line, and tells her, "Well, I'm sorry I made you uncomfortable earlier – truly. I am. But… you're alone now… and I could be talking about giving you those little butterfly licks you like on your clit while you type away at your keyboard."

She tries not to inhale audibly, she really does, but the second he says it, all she can think of is the memory of writhing on her sheets while he fluttered his tongue against the so-sensitive bud of her clit, her thighs shaking as she gasped his name, one hip held firmly in his grasp while his other hand spread her open for him. And, well, now she's even  _wetter_.

"My walls are glass," she reminds dumbly, pressing her thighs together again. "Secret office nooky is never going to happen."

"And that's why it's a fantasy," he points out. And then his voice goes a bit more serious for a moment, the teasing lilt of it dropping away as he says, "I miss you. I know it was just a few days ago, but I want you. I'm rather addicted, it seems."

Regina knows the feeling.

"Be that as it may, we can't all" —she drops her voice to a whisper again— " _masturbate_ " —and back to normal— "whenever we miss each other. Some of us work daytime hours."

"You could do it tonight, though," he smirks. She can  _hear_  that stupid smirk again. "After Henry goes to bed, right? You could touch yourself, think of me… send a few naughty photos…"

"No photos," she insists. "I mean that – not for you, or from you. I've seen your phone in Henry's hands before, there will be no naked photos of either of us or any of our parts on either of these phones ever again. If he ever saw, I'd have to, I don't know, give him up for adoption to a family that  _doesn't_  provide that kind of lasting childhood trauma."

"You raised him an hour from your mother; if he can survive that trauma, he can survive a mystery nude," he taunts her, and she feels it like a knife in the gut, more hurt than she probably ought to be. Especially considering he breezes right past it, and says, "But alright, I see your point. No more nudes, at least not at times of day where young eyes might happen upon them."

She shakes off the lingering feeling of… whatever it is (guilt, if she's honest – because she probably  _shouldn't_  have raised him so close to her toxic bitch of a mother, and yet here they are…), and focuses on the conversation at hand: "No more nudes, ever. Too risky."

"We can always just delete them, you know," he reminds her, but then he sighs a little  _too_ dramatically to be at all serious and says, "But fine, if you insist. No nudes. I'll have to rely on my imagination until I can see all your lovely bits again."

"Mm. Poor you."

"Definitely poor me," he murmurs, in that sultry sort of bedroom voice he has that makes certain parts of her go warm now, after hearing it in her ear all weekend long. "But you can still… work off the tension, sans photos."

"Not for  _hours_ ," she points out. "So no more midday sexting, alright? It just gets me all wound up, and then I can't do anything about it. I'd say save it for the evening hours, but then  _you'll_  be at work."

"Mm. Too true," he sighs, and she hears the slight rustling of fabric over the line. "I've never realized just how inconvenient our schedules are for finding time to get naked together."

She snorts a little at his bluntness, but it goads a smile out of her.

"I could sneak you texts from behind the bar," he says, and she shakes her head.

"Somehow I think that would go poorly," Regina tells him. "I can take a while; I think your customers might complain."

He sighs again, a heavy exhale in her ear, and says, "What a shame. I have to admit I'm very enamoured of the idea of you getting off to all the things I want to do to you."

"Me too," she admits, before she can stop herself. Shit.

Well.

It's out now.

And since it is, she clears her throat softly and says a very stupid thing: "Maybe I could… turn off my message previews, and you could send me a little something before you go to work? Something I could read… later… alone…" Her voice drops just above a whisper to add, "With my hand down my pants, where it's presently very, very wet."

He groans, predictably, and she grins. Good. Let them both be horny and frustrated.

"I think I could do that," he agrees. "But no peeking. I'll write you a nice little story to rub one out to tonight, and then tomorrow, maybe the boys can have a sleepover at your place, and I can sneak up to the bedroom after they're asleep?"

"Not a story," she decides. "A promise. Tell me all the things you're going to do to me, tomorrow. After the boys are asleep."

"Gladly. In detail?"

"Yes, please."

"Alright, babe. I'll give you two minutes to change your settings or turn your phone face down, and then I'll send you a little bedtime story."

Regina bites her lip, her stomach flip-flopping with anxious excitement – it shouldn't, she shouldn't do this, she's not going to be able to let her phone out of her hands for the rest of the day lest someone get a peek at her messages. But damnit, this week has been hard enough, the last  _month_  has been hard enough, so if she wants to sext a bit with her lover, then can anyone really blame her? They're both adults, she's not really doing anything  _wrong_.

"Okay," she tells him, and then, "I have to get back to work."

"Alright. Sorry about the pictures."

"It's alright," she sighs. "I'm pretty sure unsolicited dick pics are a female rite of passage; I had to get one someday."

"Well, I'm honored to be the first."

"I bet you are."

**.::.**

She's always been good at self-control. Restraint. Holding herself back from her more indulgent urges.

But never where Robin is concerned, it seems.

When she hears the first telltale buzzing of her phone five minutes later, Robin's name appearing over a notification that just reads "Text Message", she reaches for it immediately, swiping to unlock it before she remembers he'd said no peeking.

Too late now, though. She's already peeked.

And if she's peeked, she might as well read, right? It's just a long paragraph, and then a little bubble with the three little dots that tell her he's still typing.

Regina sinks her teeth into her lower lip and reads.

_First off in this little tale of our future, I'd like you to know that you choose not to wear knickers under your leggings because I find that ridiculously sexy and distracting. Watching you walk around the house in just that and a t-shirt, or that hoodie of mine, or one of those little tops you wear, knowing you're bare under there is maddening. So of course I'll be spending the whole night trying *not* to think about all the naughty things I want to do once I get you naked, bc who wants to think about that in front of the kids?_

Who, indeed? She wrinkles her nose a little, and hopes he moves on quickly to a part that  _doesn't_  mention their sons.

And then she remembers she's supposed to be working, not reading, so she sets it aside (face up, because nobody is perfect), and pulls up her emails.

And then her phone buzzes again.

_But try as i might, by the time they go to bed I'm going to be desperate for you. It'll be all I can do to wait til they're down for the night (in the living room of course, so you can moan while I fuck you) before you give me that look that means business and head upstairs._

Work.  _Working_. She's supposed to be  _working_. Not licking her lips and waiting for his next text.

She forces herself to click open an email, to ignore the next time her phone buzzes, and even the one after that. But by the third one, her fingers are itching to reach over, and she's read the same line of this email four times.

Fuck it.

_I'll follow you up the stairs if for no other reason than to watch that criminal ass of yours as you climb_

_Might give it a little swat – would you jump and scold me or jump and gasp? Maybe we can find out tomorrow hm?_

Scold him, she thinks (she's lying, and she knows him). Definitely scold him.

_I'll barely be able to wait til were in the bedroom luv but once we are I'm gonna pin you to the door and kiss you breathless, rub your clit over those leggings. You've been waiting all night too so you're warm and horny and when I rub between your thighs the fabric starts to get damp, soaking thru from how wet you are for me_

Fuck. She needs to stop reading this at work.

Regina presses her thighs together hard, turns her phone upside down, and goes back to those emails.

She makes it through five more messages before she caves again.

_Are you still wet luv? I bet you are, sitting at your desk wondering what I'm going to write to you. All slippery for me and I'm not even there._

(Bastard.)

_So fucking hot. Everything about you is so painfully sexy. I'm utterly besotted. Just knowing I got you all hot and bothered has me half hard again_

_But I digress_

_I'll keep kissing you against that door, keep rubbing you until you start to writhe and pant and make those sexy little sounds in the back of your throat. (love those sounds) And then I'll tug those leggings down to your thighs just like I did the first time I fingered you_

_Do you remember that? God that was hot. You were so wound up and so wet and you felt so bloody good around my fingers. Wanted you so bad. Wanted to eat you out, and feel you around my cock, wanted to fuck you right on that desk, give you a good rattle until you couldn't think about anything much less that feckless wanker_

She frowns a little at the mention of Sidney – not at all what she wants to be thinking of while reading things that make her ache like this.

But it's not enough to turn her off completely, or to keep her from whispering, "Me, too," a little secret between her and her phone.

If she'd known then how good he felt inside her, she might have let him (she wouldn't have, but it's a nice thought, a good five-second fantasy, her propped on that little desk while he rattled her bones until her eyes rolled back from how badly she needed to cry out but couldn't).

But the workplace isn't a place for sexy fantasies, even five-second ones, so she sets her phone down again – or she means to, but it buzzes in her hand just as she's about to let it go, and… well…

_I'm gonna finger you again tomorrow. Gonna rub your clit, get it all slick and wet, make you make those little circles with your hips and watch the way your lashes flutter while I make you feel good. Gonna keep kissing you, slower now, gonna rub your clit nice and slow too but *hard*—_

(Regina lets out a tiny, quiet moan, can't help it, and feels her cheeks flush with embarrassment the second it escapes her. She should  _not_  be reading this right now. But she is...)

— _until you're panting and your thighs are starting to shake like they do right before you cum. And then I'm gonna slip my fingers inside you_

_How many do you need luv?_

_Two?_

_Three?_

Fuck. (Three.)

_Let's go with three._

God, she's caught up with him, and it's not a good thing. He can't be sending her these short little messages that she can see in real time. Can't give her a reason to sit here and wait for the next one. She needs to be  _working._

_I'll slide them in nice and slow, all three, bc you're soaking for me and you can take em right away. Give you a few deep thrusts and then I'm gonna curl them just right until your jaw drops and you make that little guh sound you make every time I find your gspot when you're all worked up._

_And then I'm gonna fuck you. Hard._

Shit, she  _has_  to stop reading his. She's like a fucking river delta right now, too wet and too humid and way too turned on to be  _at work._  Her breath is shallow, and she's pretty sure her cheeks are  _still_  flushed.

She puts her phone down.

For real this time.

For good.

In fact, she picks it up again and tugs out her keyboard tray and stashes it behind her keyboard for good measure. Out of sight, out of mind.

But, sadly, not out of earshot.

She can hear it under there. Buzz. Buzz. Buzz… Buzz, buzz. Buzz.

And on every one, she feels herself clench just a little. Tells herself to rein it in and  _focus_ , but all she can focus on is just what Robin plans on doing with those three fingers that are up inside her.

But she is an adult, damnit. A professional. Not some horny teenager who can't keep her mind out of the gutter.

So she answers seven emails and sends three others before she gives into temptation and fishes the traitorous little device out from its hiding place.

_Its gonna feel so good luv you're gonna gasp and moan and scrunch your eyes shut and I'm gonna remind you that you can't scream. We're not alone this time, its not like before when I could make you shout my name while you came on my fingers or my cock or my tongue. You'll have to be just a little quiet – not too quiet bc the kids are asleep all the way downstairs (clever that, innit?) – but you can't scream_

_Not even when I drop to my knees and start flicking your clit with my tongue while I fingerbang you nice and hard just like you like, just like you need right now._

_You can't even cry out when I start sucking you, pulling your clit into my mouth like you like, giving it those hard sucks you like. I think you're warmed up enough for those now yeah? I'm going to do it again and again and again and again while you tug my hair and gasp and push your hips toward my face. I'm gonna keep doing it til you cum luv and then I'm gonna suck even harder, just one long hard suck while you shake and buckle over and rake your nails thru my hair like you did the other night._

_And then I'm gonna keep going bc I know you'll cum again for me and I fucking love making you cum and cum_

_I'll slow down tho_

_Draw it out, make it last_

_Slow my fingers down, make it nice and deep and lazy for you. Let you catch your breath while I give you some nice slow licks, drag my tongue right over your clit and make you jerk. So sexy._

_Fuck luv I'm so hard from telling you all this I'm gonna have to jerk off again_

"Lucky bastard," she mutters under her breath, not at all surprised by how thick and breathless her voice is. She needs to come. Embarrassingly so.

And she can't. For hours.

She hates him for this (hates herself for reading it). Loves him for this (can't wait to read it again, later, when she can  _do_  something about it).

_But not yet_

_After I finish telling you how I'm gonna fuck you with my tongue for a bit. Your knees will be all shaky from cumming so we'll move to the bed and I'll pull that top off you and kiss your tits, suck your nipples. You like when I suck your nipples after you cum, don't think I haven't noticed._

She does, and, oh, Regina is  _well aware_  that he's picked up on that little trick.

_So I'll do that until you're squirming for me again and then I'll kiss my way down your belly, your hips, your thighs_

_Fuck I was gonna make you cum again_

_Back up, pretend we're still against the door_

Regina snorts, and shakes her head, rewinding her little mental movie dutifully.

_You've just cum screaming on my fingers and I'm fucking you again nice and slow, licking your clit, and you're all sagged wonderfully against the door enjoying the way your thighs are still shaking, and I'm gonna keep my fingers nice and slow for you, but start giving you those quick little licks. The kinda flicking ones that make you breathe in quick through your nose and pull my hair_

_Those ones_

Regina crosses her legs, hard.

_I'm gonna keep em up until you're moaning all quiet in the back of your throat again, fucking you slowly with my fingers all the while, and then I'm gonna start sucking you again. Move my fingers faster faster faster until you start gasping again and begging me not to stop the way you do when you're about to cum. And I won't stop luv, I'll never stop, I'll keep going until you're cumming again for me_

_Love when you cum on my fingers and I can feel you get all tight and your hips get all twitchy. I could spend all day and night watching you cum babe_

_But you know that don't you_

He adds in a couple of those smirky devil emojis he's fond of there, because, yes, of course she knows that. She'd been jelly-kneed and breathless for half the weekend, had been eaten out until she'd gone from gasping for him not to stop to begging him  _to_  stop because her clit was too sensitive for yet  _another_  orgasm.

So yes, yes, she knows that. Very well.

And she needs to stop reading this at work (but she won't, and these mental protests are silly, and pointless, and growing weaker by the minute – if only that damp ache between her thighs would do the same…).

_After you've cum again THEN we'll go over to the bed and I'll kiss your tits and suck your nips and kiss my way down to your positively soaked parts (we need to come up with something to call your bits so I can send you proper dirty texts luv) and I'll spread your lovely thighs and lick and suck along your lips the way you like, lap up all that lovely wetness I've stirred all up and then fuck you good and proper with my tongue_

She's staring at those three little dots when she hears the knock, and she jumps so hard she barely even catches Mal's, "Hey, Regina—" too busy flaring with mortification and bobbling her phone so frantically that she manages to actually drop it and have it bounce to the floor.

Mal takes one look at her and cackles.

Regina curses Robin Francis Locksley and his stupid need to sext her in the middle of the workday, bending to pick up her phone if not her dignity.

"Still going, huh?" Mal chuckles from above her, and Regina doesn't even know  _what_  to say to that. Luckily Mal doesn't allow her much of a chance to respond, giving her an all-too-amused, "I'll come back later," and oh, no, no.

"No!" Regina blurts, and then she's dropping her head into her palm, mortified beyond belief as she pleads, "Please tell me you have something work-related you need me to take care of right now."

Mal lifts a brow, leans against the doorway and asks, "Are you sure about that?"

Regina grimaces – she can feel the flush in her cheeks, and she's still embarrassingly wet, even more embarrassing now that there's another person in her office, right in front of her, while her clit aches from lack of stimulation.

"If you don't, I'll just keep reading, and I… can't be reading these at work." She glances beyond Mal, determining that there's nobody even remotely within earshot, but she still drops her voice to almost nothing when she admits, "I'm dying. But he's… writing me something, and… I… can't…"

God, she can't even say it, but luckily Mal doesn't make her.

"Keep your eyes off it?" she suggests, not making any effort in the slightest to hide how amusing she finds this whole thing. Regina grimaces again, and nods. "Is it  _good_?" she asks, her voice dropping into a low, conspiratorial drawl.

That's… that's none of her business.

Still, Regina confesses, "He's mouthy. And... vivid."

Mal snorts again, says, "I like this guy; sounds like he'll loosen you up," and then finally, finally tells her, "I have a question about the winter campaign, and could use your help."

Regina mutters, "Thank God," and rises from her seat (everything slips and slides and aches and, God, this was a terrible, terrible idea, they can never do this again), shoving her phone into the pocket of her skirt, and telling herself to put it out of her mind for now.

It buzzes against her hip once. And again a few minutes later. And a few seconds after that. And then again once she's sitting in Mal's office going over the plans she'd passed along to her just that morning. And then again, again, again.

Mallory, thankfully, doesn't say another word.

**.::.**

She stops on the way back from Mal's office to use the ladies room, no longer quite so painfully aroused, thank God.

That doesn't last long, though.

She has to take that phone out of her pocket to use the toilet, and there are more texts. Dozens of texts, it seems like, Robin's name on her screen again and again and again. There's also an embarrassing damp spot on the crotch of her thong that she's trying very hard not to notice while she does the absolutely idiotic thing and opens their messages.

She skims a little –  _hold your thighs while you cum again – suck your tits again because as we've well established you love it – sink my cock into you, you'll be so fucking wet god luv it'll feel so bloody good around me I can't wait – kissing you hard and deep – taste yourself on me – start to fuck you nice and slow – faster – gasping for me – how good my cock is – cumming hard and raking your nails down my back – again and you have to muffle your – cum inside you – so bloody good – I'm so hard right now luv you have no idea let me show you_

And then another picture.

Robin's erection, and God, he really is hard, thick, she can see that vein he likes having licked just so, and the shiny slipperiness of precum on his head, his foreskin slipped back just a little the way it does when he's stone solid for her.

Fuck. She shouldn't have looked at this.

_Fuck. I said I wouldn't send any more of those._

_I deleted it. I promise._

_Gonna go beat off again before work. Hope you enjoy your bedtime story. Wish I could be there to see you read it_.

Regina lets out a breathless little laugh and finishes up her business (she resists the urge to reach down and rub one out – that little skim of what's to come has her damp again but certainly not desperate enough to do  _that_ ,  _here_ ).

He may want to see her read it, but Regina, not so much. She stares at herself in the bathroom mirror as she washes her hands. Her eyes are bright, her cheeks just a little pink. She looks… well, normal, mostly. Passably so.

But she doesn't  _feel_  normal.

She  _feels_  like there's too much time left before end-of-day. Feels like she's going to be thinking about this for the rest of the damn afternoon.

And she feels… sexy. That ache between her thighs has gone from acute to a promising suggestion. She can feel that damp spot on her thong against her, clinging just a little, and a little cold after being exposed to the air for a minute. Her breasts feel… well, they  _feel_. She's  _aware_  of them, aware of the texture of ivory lace against her nipples.

So yes, she feels sexy. Sexual. A little naughty.

And she's alone in this bathroom. Alone, and apparently insane today because she's tapping out a message to Robin and ducking back into one of the stalls.

_Is my son with you?_

It only takes him a few seconds to reply:  _No, why?_

_Is anyone with you?_

_No, I just got out of the shower. What's up?_

Regina resists the urge to imagine him in a towel, or less, puts the thought of his muscled, dripping chest aside in favor of releasing the top, oh, four buttons on her blouse, tugging it open enough for that lace beneath to show.

And then she flips open the forward facing camera on her phone before she loses her nerve.

She makes a face, another, tries for sexy but thinks she just looks silly. And you know what? Her face is not the point – and not something she wants to risk anyone seeing – so she lines up the frame to cut off most of it and snaps a few shots that she will delete momentarily.

She picks the one she thinks looks the best, her lips slightly parted at the top of the frame, her boobs looking nice and perky in that bra, and then she sends it to him with a message:  _I peeked._

Her heart pounds nervously as she buttons herself back up, keeping herself locked safely in the stall while she pulls up the pictures and deletes them from her Camera Roll, and then her trash.

Her next message from Robin makes her grin:  _God you're gorgeous. If you're rubbing one out in the toilet cubicle at work I might just need another shower_

_No, definitely not doing that. Just wanted to send you something. DELETE IT NOW._

She reaches for the stall door, but then what if he messages her again? Maybe she should stay for just another minute…

Sure enough, those three little dots appear; she waits them out until:  _It's absolutely criminal, but I will._ And then a second later,  _When I see you tomorrow, I'm introducing you to Snapchat and I'm going to send you dirty pictures that expire after ten seconds every day for the rest of our lives._

Regina laughs, shakes her head, and finally leaves the bathroom.

**.::.**

She manages to survive on that quick skim all the way through her commute to Henry's school, and dinner, and homework. Makes it all the way until after Henry's bedtime before she opens her messages again.

But she can't deny there's a little skip in her step as she pads from her son's room down the hall to her own – not even bothering with her nightly routine yet.

She has  _needs_  to take care of first.

Slipping under her sheet, she pulls up the thread again and scrolls all the way back to the top, one hand slipping down to rub at her clit as she does.

She reads through those first few flirty texts again, takes a good, hard look at the photos of him, lets that video play through with the sound up high enough to hear the rhythm of his hand as he jerks himself off for her, the way he'd panted between those low groans, the way her name had stuttered out of him just a little.

And then she watches it again. And again.

And then she keeps reading. Slowly. Taking her time to savor every word, speeding up when he does, slowing down when he does, letting her imagination run wild with the images he's painted for her.

She comes, finally, hard enough to make her toes curl, and her belly clench, her moans strangled off deep in her throat. And then she keeps reading, keeps rubbing, he's only just started eating her out, after all…

She comes again, and once more before she finishes, and then she lies there gasping to catch her breath, sweat dewing over her chest, at her temples.

Her knees are tingly; she misses him.

It turns out he's not the only one who wishes he was here to watch her read his little narrative, after all.

Too bad he's missed out.

Drawing damp fingers from beneath her waistband, she flips open her camera again, looking at herself, her flushed cheeks, her mussed hair. Her index finger is still wet, still tastes like her when she catches it between her teeth and manages something resembling sexy for the camera after all.

Suddenly his urge to show her just how turned on he was at the thought of her makes a little more sense (there's still no excuse for his timing, though).

But there's still that death by mortification to worry about, so she lets her finger fall away, closes the camera, and sighs.

Regina stares up at the ceiling for exactly forty-two seconds before she pulls up the app store and types in a single word: "Snapchat."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For OQPromptParty2018. Personal Prompt: Breaking In: Snapchat Sexting.

Robin has decided that _Regina is typing…_ may be three of his favorite words in the English language. Every time they pop up in his notifications with that little yellow ghosty square, he feels his blood start to rush a bit south. And every time, he stares at his phone and waits for the next notification.

Today is no different.

He’s still home, in bed, it’s just barely noon, and he’d worked late last night as usual. He eyes that notification with his lip caught in his teeth, waiting for its pair to pop up.

She only uses Snapchat for things she doesn’t want Henry to see.

Which means, generally speaking, she only uses Snapchat to sext.

They’ve gotten rather excellent at making their text conversations sound like they’re just friends checking in with each other – the usual _How’s your day going_ or _Can I rant to you for a minute?_ or _Would you mind picking up Henry today? I’m slammed._ Even some of their more affectionate missives could pass as simply good friends.

So when she comes to him via Snap, he knows he’s in for something a bit more… private.

When that “ _from Regina_ ” appears on his screen, he wastes no time in swiping the notification, unlocking his phone, waiting rather impatiently as it loads.

Her message is only two words, that both disappoint him and melt his heart simultaneously: _Miss you._

Right. Sometimes she uses Snap for this, too. Sweeter messages, sappier ones. Ones that would be harder to explain away to Henry.

Robin replies immediately, sends her back a “ _Miss you too luv. Always_ ” and tells himself to yank his libido into check.

She’s typing again, and then: _I can’t stop thinking about Friday night_.

Well, then. Nevermind.

Robin grins, and types back _Which part exactly?_

Friday night had found him in her bed, as usual. In _her_ , as usual. Someplace he may not find himself again until _next_ Friday, on account of Ruby needing to swap nights with him this weekend – her Friday for his following Thursday. It’s not as though they can’t wait two weeks to fuck, but he’s already regretting his choice just a little bit.

Maybe he can convince her to let him wake her up for a midnight quickie, or talk her into doing it with the boys in the house (something she’s gotten remarkably prudish about lately – John’s been away on business the last three weekends so he can’t leave Roland alone, and there are only so many sleepovers she thinks they can pull off before Henry starts to put two and two together).

In the meantime, though, at least they have this. He waits while she types, and smirks at the idea that she’s been sitting at her desk thinking of the last time they were together. At least he’s not the only one who gets caught up in daydreams about their sex life.

Her reply finally pops up: _Your tongue. I shouldn’t have had you stop before I came_

He’d been going down on her, gripping her thighs while her hips rocked up against his face, enjoying the sound of her thick, heavy breaths as she tried not to moan while he made her wetter and wetter and wetter. She’d already come once, a trembling little surprise of an orgasm that had snuck up on them while he’d been rubbing her clit a few minutes before, but it hadn’t been terribly intense so he’d been determined to do right by her with a good thorough round of oral.

But then she’d been tugging at his hair, gasping for him to stop, and urging them toward the main event.

 _I told you I’d gladly give you more than one…,_ Robin reminds her. He’d known she was getting close, had been reluctant to stop, but she’d insisted she’d wanted to come with him inside her, and well, he can never deny her _that_. Still he hadn’t seen why that had to preclude her from coming on his tongue too.

After all, as she points out: _I had more than one…_

_*Another* one then_

_Impatient,_ she tells him, and then: _I wanted you inside me._

He starts to type out a reply, intends for it to be _Wanted to feel my cock in you, hmm?_ , but he only makes it as far as the “my” before she’s sent another message that makes his cock stir:

_Want you inside me now, to be honest._

Robin bites at his bottom lip and types out, _Yeah? Right now? At your desk?,_ one hand dropping to rub himself idly through the cotton of his boxer briefs. He doesn’t know why it thrills him so damn much that she’s sitting at work having this conversation, having these thoughts, but it does.

All she gives him in response is a short, _Mmhm_

No matter, he can carry the conversation if he needs to, telling her: _You have no idea how badly I want to take you on that desk luv_

It’s an all too frequent fantasy of his, now that he’s finally gotten to have her, to eat her out, to do all the things he’d wanted for so long. Now, his fantasies stray toward other forbidden treats — like an office nooner.

His phone dings in his hand, and she’s responded: _Oh I think I have an idea_

A second later, she makes him laugh when she responds again: _Stupid glass walls_

He’s quick to reply: _Let them watch, who cares? We’ll give them a show_

Unsurprisingly, she’s not game for his suggestion, hitting him back with a droll: _Lol. Right._

But she’s typing again, and then: _What would you do?_

Robin grins. Someone is definitely in a mood….

 _If you’d let me?_ , he clarifies, rather needlessly.

_Yes_

_Go down on you properly for starters_ , Robin tells her, and then, _What are you wearing?_

Because if they’re going to do this, he’s going to get comfortable and rub one one. While she takes her time replying, Robin settles down more comfortably in his pillows and pulls his cock out of his shorts, stroking it lazily until her reply pops up.

She tells him, _Black pencil skirt, white blouse, black pumps_ , and he groans aloud even though she’s not there to hear him.

 _God bless you_. She knows how much he loves those skirts of hers. And today, he also loves how willing she is to exchanges sexts at work, something she’s not always been so keen on, claiming it gets her all hot and bothered with nothing to do about it. But she started it, and he’s still got plenty of time before work, so he asks, _How much of an exhibitionist is Fantasy Regina?_

He’s thrilled to bits when she replies, _Up to you_

_Ah my three favorite words_

_Lol_

For a moment, he mulls over his options, still idly wanking himself, and then swaps hands so he can more easily type one-handed, and taps out, _I’d have you stand facing those bloody glass walls, shove that tight skirt up and eat you from behind. Let everyone see the way I make your jaw drop and your eyes roll back_

He drops the phone to his chest, and shuts his eyes, tries to imagine her sitting at her desk all prim and proper and reading his little suggestion. What a lovely image that makes…

When his phone buzzes again, he lifts it to see she’s responded with one word: _Jerk_

Robin smirks, and tells her, _Fantasy Regina likes when people watch_

He can practically hear her reply, the way she’d roll her eyes and mutter: _I bet she does_

But she’d be smirking, because she likes when he flirts with her, so her asks her a question he already thinks he knows the answer to: _You’re wet just thinking about it tho aren’t you?_

She responds with, _Maybe,_ but there’s no way he’s letting her off the hook that easily.

 _We don’t get to be coy on snapchat luv_ , he teases. Because what’s the point of expiring messages if you don’t fill them with things worth hiding? So he urges her again, _Tell me if you’re wet_

Her reply makes him give his cock a squeeze: _I’ve been wet since before I sent you a snap_

It takes him a second to answer her; he has to pick up the pace and pressure just a little to relieve that fresh ache she’s called up in him (it always feels a bit off with his left hand, but he doesn’t mind when she’s talking about how she’s been wet for him all morning).

Finally, he answers her: _Fuck I love when you say things like that,_ and, _What were you thinking about?_

Again, she goes for the cop out: _Already told you that._

_Details luv._

Robin wouldn’t say she’s shy, but he’s noticed Regina can be a bit reticent to start the flow of dirty talk. That’s usually his area of expertise. But he can usually coax it out of her with a little encouragement, and today is no different. She types for a bit while he rubs his thumb in slow circles over the tip of his cock and waits her out.

When she answers, she doesn’t disappoint: _Just how good it felt. You did something different this time, you licked my clit differently. Those sort of longer, slower licks over the top of it. Not as intense as usual, but it felt so good._

_I remember. It made you breathe all heavy_

He’d been taking his time – Fridays are for fucking, after all, and he intends to take full advantage every chance they get. Who needs sleep? So he hadn’t been in any particular rush, and while he’s thoroughly explored every bit of her bits, there’s always room for improved knowledge and new techniques. So he’d been switching it up a bit, and started in on those lingering, more oblique licks, and she’d loved them. He’d made a mental note to store them away for those nights when they’ve got a bit more time to enjoy each other.

Something he doesn’t think she’ll protest, considering her response is, _Mmhmm. I want you to do that again._

He wants that, too, but it does present a small issue for Fantasy Regina – namely that being eaten out from behind while standing is not at all an appropriate stance for a repeat showing.

He tells her so: _Well then eating you from behind against the wall is all wrong isn’t it? ;)_

_Yes. lol_

_Not enough room on that desk to lay you out and eat you properly – you have a conference room tho yeah?_

Because why simply fuck her on a desk, when he could fuck her on _everyone’s_ desk?

 _We do…,_ she confirms, and he can almost picture the doubtful expression on her face, and the devilish hint of anticipation in her eyes.

She’d maybe never do it in real life, but she’ll enjoy the fantasy well enough. So he continues, tells her: _Then I’d take you there. Lay you back across the conference table with that lovely arse of yours right at the edge and slide a wheely chair right up between your thighs so I could get comfy there for a while_

He can just imagine it – her in that outfit, her shirt unbuttoned so he can get at her tits, that tight skirt rumpled up around her hips, her all wet and spread open for him to lick and suck and nibble. And that complete useless bellend she works with could watch and see how a real man treats a woman who’s actually bloody interested in his advances. (He leaves that part out of their little fantasy; he doubts she’d appreciate it.)

As it is, she’s telling him, _...I just snort-laughed at my desk at the image of you wheeling an office chair up to my nether regions._

 _Well am i supposed to stand?_ he reasons – an office chair seems a perfectly fine perch if you ask him. Good height, comfortable, armrests for her to settle her feet on if she doesn’t want to be quite so splayed. Perfectly logical.

_No I suppose not. Carry on…_

And so he does: _I’d spend a while just like that luv. Giving you those slow soft licks you liked the other night until you got all riled up and breathless_

The phone slips slightly in his hand and he has to adjust his grip; while he does, she starts typing, so he waits for her response.

When it arrives, it has him digging his teeth into his lower lip: _Would you hold my thighs?_

_You want me to?_

It’s a needless question; she wouldn’t have asked if the answer was no. But he wants her to say it.

She doesn’t disappoint.

 _Mhmm_ , she answers, and then, _I like when you grab me. When you hold my thighs, or my hips, or my ass._

God bless her.

She makes him groan again when she adds, _It’s hot._

She’s hot. Bloody fabulous, and delightful when she starts to loosen her proverbial tongue a bit and be bold about what she likes, what she wants.

So he tells her, _Duly noted,_ and _, I will absolutely hold your thighs while I eat you out on that table._ And then, _In fact i’ll grip nice and firm and spread them a little wider, lick a bit lower until I can fuck you with my tongue, taste how wet you are_

He doesn’t need to ask again, but he does: _Are you wet luv?_

_You know I am_

_Still like to hear it_ , he answers with a smirk. And then he asks, _How wet?_

Her response is quick, but dissatisfying: _Wet_

 _How wet?_ , he repeats, giving himself a few longer, slow strokes. It takes her a second to type, so he puts the phone down on his chest again and grips himself a little tighter, imagines his little conference table tableau until he feels the buzz of her next message.

_I’m all slippery. I can feel it every time I shift._

Robin moans softly, wanks himself a little faster; she’s still typing, and in a moment she confesses, _I keep pressing my thighs together trying to take the edge off._

After a few more strokes, he slows enough to focus and ask her, _Already? Just from this?_

Her reply sends a thrill rippling through his chest: _I’ve been thinking about you all morning…_

 _Oh, really?,_ he teases with a grin. _What brought that on?_

_No reason. Just woke up in the mood._

That makes two of them today, clearly. He tells her, _Should’ve come over,_ then drops the phone again to await the next blessed buzz. For the next thirty seconds or so, he imagines that she did come over. Snuck into his bed in the early morning, woke him up with her lips wrapped around his cock, then rode him until they both popped off, her tits bouncing pleasantly the whole time.

Fuck, he wants her. And not just like this. He wants her with him, naked – or near enough to naked. Wants to kiss her, and feel her skin, and cup the soft weight of her tits in his hands, hear her moan as he gives her pleasure.

This first-thing-in-the-morning sexting idea was both great and terrible.

His phone buzzes again.

_Yes, that would have been easy to explain to Henry. “Just popping over to Robin’s when he’s dead asleep to borrow a cup of sugar…”_

He snorts a little laugh and points out: _You wake up before he does, you could’ve snuck over for a quickie_

_You were asleep._

As if that’s a reason.

Wait, what if she thinks that’s actually a good reason?

Robin lets go of his dick long enough to quickly type the following: _Let the record state: You have absolute permission to show up any time day or night for a booty call._ For good measure, he adds, _My cock is yours at any hour_

Robin’s not sure where in the course of their relationship he managed to give her the impression that there’s any universe where he’d choose sleep over being with her – even if they weren’t naked and sweaty. She’s always welcome to climb into his bed, or settle onto his couch. Wake him up to talk, or kiss, or fuck. Any of it. He’s hers.

He smiles when she tells him, _That statement should be neither sweet nor sexy, and yet._

Robin answers back: _I’m a charmer_

_Uh huh._

_Charmed your pants right off, didn’t I?_

_If I recall, it took you quite a while._

He hmmphs something between a laugh and a scoff and says, _Only because I was a git. That first date, I got you topless and grinding on me with just dinner, a movie, and my wit._

It’s a good memory – one he replays often. How eager she was, and how unfettered they were by all the baggage she hadn’t known they were carrying. He wonders sometimes how things would be different if they hadn’t had all this junk to work through, and had just been able to date and fuck and blend their lives seamlessly. But the more he thinks on it, the more he thinks he’d take the path they’ve forged together over a smoother one – it was worth it to get to here. And who knows, maybe they wouldn’t be so desperately horny for each other all the time if they hadn’t had to wait for it for so long.

Speaking of the wait, she’s teasing him back: _Maybe I was just hard up. It had been a while, y’know._

 _Nah. You wanted me,_ he replies, adding, _Bad.,_ and then, _Can’t resist this hot English physique._

He hopes it’ll make her laugh.

She flirts back: _It is pretty hot, I have to admit,_ and Robin grins.

She’s typing again, so he waits her out, tugs at his cock some more, scrolls back up their conversation and revisits some of the highlights while he still can. By the time he scrolls back to the bottom, his breath has gone a bit thick, the tension in his gut spooled a bit more tightly.

She’s replied again: _Texting you was a bad idea. Now I’m even hornier than I was before._

Robin grins, and it spreads even wider when a second message pops up: _And I have to go into a meeting in half an hour, in that aforementioned conference room. Now I’m going to spend the whole time thinking about you with your head between my thighs._

He lets go of his cock again and types back, _Good. Imagine me licking your clit, fucking you with my tongue, standing up once you’re good and wet for me and unzipping my jeans, pulling my cock out and sinking it into you._ (God, he wishes.) _I bet it’d go in so good right now babe wouldn’t it_

He reaches down for another stroke, then adds: _If you’re all slippery like you said_

She answers quickly, _God yes,_ and then, _Fuck, I want you._

_Want you too babe. Always._

He’s just started to work up to a steady rhythm with his hand again when she asks, _Are you home?_

He taps out a one-handed, _Yeah._

_What are YOU wearing?_

_Boxer briefs. Sort of  
_ _They’re blue if that matters_

_Sort of?_

_Well my cock is out so idk if that counts as wearing them really_

He ought to just take them off, to be honest, but then she’s asking him, _Are you jerking off?_ and, well, there are more important things to do than tug his shorts down. Especially when in reply to his confirmation that yes, he is, she sends: _Show me_

He’s tempted to tease her about how she had once scolded him quite profusely about sending her dick pics at work, but he’s not looking a gift horse in the mouth. If she’s in this much of a mood, he’ll gladly oblige. He adjusts himself a bit, flips on the bedside lamp even though it’s daylight, so the photo isn’t quite so muted and dull. And then he wraps his hand around his dick again, cups the bottom of it so she can get a good view at how hard he is and then snaps a shot and hits send.

(He imagines her opening it at her desk, imagines her biting her lip, imagines her cheeks flushing that way they sometimes do, and he works his hand up, down, up.)

And then he gets two more messages from her, right in a row. Just three words in total: _Video.,_ and then, _NO SOUND._

Robin is suddenly unsure whether he’s awake or just having a very pleasant dream. It’s not the first time Regina has requested a video of him wanking while they were apart, but the other times were more of the “Send me something to look at later once Henry is asleep” variety, not “Please let me watch you jerk off from my desk.”

He digs blunt nails into his thigh for a second, feels the prickly discomfort. Awake, then. God, what a waste that she’s at work when she’s this worked up. She ought to be here, with him, riding his cock.

Robin flips the camera to video, swapping hands and reaching down to jerk himself with his right. He rubs for a moment before he presses the record button, just to get himself going again and then he starts the video, careful to keep his dick in frame as he strokes it steadily, and then gives himself a few slow tugs, squeezing his foreskin up, and then pulling it back so his head is fully exposed, his thumb rolling over the head of his cock and making his belly clench. He keeps the video going as he speeds up again, works himself over at a pace that has his breath going thicker, his belly expanding and contracting with it at the bottom of the frame.

Robin moans at the sensation, then gives his cock a little squeeze, ends the video and sends it to her.

At work. In the middle of the day. Half an hour before she has to go into a meeting and pretend she’s not creaming her panties and thinking of him eating her out.

He takes back his earlier thought, and hers – this was an excellent idea. They should start every day like this.

It’s a few minutes before she replies, and he spends them jerking himself slowly again, wanting to draw this out a bit longer, reaching down to cup and tease his balls as he waits for her reaction.

When his phone buzzes again, he lifts it and notices that between his last missive and her latest is a tiny string of text: _Regina replayed your snap!_ Robin grins.

The message she’s sent him is just as satisfying as the knowledge that she’d watched him jerk off not once, but twice: _I am having very inappropriate thoughts for the workplace._

 _Do tell…_ , he invites, as if she hasn’t been having very not-safe-for-work thoughts all morning.

He’s still not prepared for her reply: _I want that in my mouth._

“Fuck,” he mutters softly, giving himself another few strokes and imagining those words in her bedroom voice before he takes the time to reply.

 _Yeah? Wanna suck my cock luv?_ he asks her, adding, _I love how much you love giving head_

Because she really does, and he really does. Marian hadn’t minded it – had been perfectly willing, and enjoyed it, and had been great at it. And Lord knows he’d had plenty of women before her, some of whom had hated it, some of whom had been indifferent, some who sucked dick like a pro. But there’s something about the way Regina gives head that he fucking loves. Something about the way she smiles at him, all coy and self-satisfied, when she’s managed to make him go brainless with her mouth (one of these days, he’s going to 69 her, and see who can get off on giving the other head first).

So he’s not terribly surprised when she tells him: _I like the power. And the sounds you make._

 _And yet you wanted the sound off on the video_ , he teases.

_I’m *at work*._

_What a shame._ He sighs as he sends it, even though she’s not there to see it. And then he teases, _You could be here, sucking my cock._

_My point exactly._

Robin digs his teeth into his grin, and takes a swing: _Fake a migraine. Come home. I don’t have to be at work for two more hours._

_I wish. You’d be done by the time I got home anyway._

_I’ll stop and save it for you._

It’ll be torture, but he’ll do it. He can hold off, if he can actually talk her into skiving off work to have a nooner.

He asks her, _Have you had lunch? Take an extra half hour, come home, I’ll give you a good rattle and send you on back to the office. ;)_

 _Ha. Ha._ , she sends, and he can practically hear her dry laughter, can practically see the way she’d raise her brows at him. _I have that meeting._

_Fuck._

_Sadly no. ;)_

Robin snorts a laugh and sends back, _Cheeky.,_ then texts, _I could come to you. You could sneak out to the parking garage and we could do it in your car._

He’s only half-joking. Actually, no. He’s not joking, he realizes. If she was willing he’d drive over there and absolutely have a quickie with her in the parking lot. So he tells her so, sending: _And just in case you think I’m joking, I am not._

After all, the answer’s always no if you never ask.

And, unsurprisingly, the answer is also no if you _do_ ask apparently, because after a moment, she sends back: _a) That’d never work b) why MY car? c) security cameras in the garage_

All easy fixes as far as Robin is concerned: _a) Sure it would b) I’d have to street park bc I don’t have a garage pass and i don’t figure you fancy doing it parked at a sidewalk downtown during lunch hour and c) we won’t get naked, just tug your skirt up, I’ll unzip, cameras wont be able to see anything_

Perfectly reasonable if you ask him. She’ll never agree to it, but it’s a fun fantasy to while away the minutes he waits for her to text back. He jerks himself idly again, imagining them in the passenger seat, the seat itself knocked back as far as it will go, Regina on his lap (shirt unbuttoned again, skirt rucked up to her hips again, a black lacy thong tugged to the side as she takes him deep again and again). They’d build up a good sweat, and she’d be warm and wet all around him (Fantasy Regina doesn’t much care for condoms), her fingers gripping in his hair, nails scratching at the back of his neck as they both moaned at how good it felt, at—

His phone buzzes again and he lifts it from where he’d let it drop to his chest again to read: _Just me getting into a car with you, bouncing on your lap, and then going back to work… Not obvious AT ALL._

Sounds wonderful to him. But she does admittedly have a bit more of a sense of public decorum, or at least slightly less of an exhibitionist streak.

Still, he can’t help question, _How often do you see the security guys?_

She sends him “...” in response, and he guffaws. She follows it up with a tart, _Not the point._

Definitely the point, he thinks. And definitely a point in his column.

He teases her some more, offering, _I can be there in twenty minutes._

_Meeting’s in twenty minutes. Less than, in fact._

Right. She has that meeting. He’s presently quite displeased about that meeting.

 _Fucking meeting,_ he sends her, hoping his petulant grumble translates over text. Maybe he’ll get lucky and it’s one of those short, pointless meetings, and there will still be plenty of time afterward for him to… get lucky. He asks her, _How long?,_ then sends up a prayer to the gods of inappropriate sex, if there is such a thing, that they’ll grant him favor and he’ll get to see her before work. Hell, at this point, he’d take five minutes in the parking lot just to neck like a couple of horny teenagers. All this texting has him missing her.

The gods do not smile upon him today: _Supposed to be an hour, but they run long. You have work at 3, right?_

 _Yes_ , he sends, and, _Sod it all._

She texts back, _I should get back to work… Can you maybe send me something for later?_ And then _, If you’re still jerking off. Maybe something to watch or read while I do the same, without you, in bed, tonight. Thinking of you._

She adds the little kissy emoji with the heart and he smiles, and sends back, _I can definitely do that_. And then, _Enjoy your meeting_ , and _Imagine my tongue on your clit and my hands holding tight to your thighs_

Regina texts back, _Mmm, I will_ , and then that’s that.

Robin drops his phone to the bed and spends the next minute or so working himself back up again, re-stoking the embers of his arousal that had dimmed a bit while he was trying to cajole her into a little afternoon delight. And then he reaches for his phone again to take a few more snaps for her to enjoy later, and discovers she’s sent him another message.

It’s just his name, just _Robin._

He frowns, and answers, _Yes luv?_ and then drops his hand to toy with his balls again while he waits for her to reply again.

When she does, it makes everything inside him throb: _My meeting just got pushed back to this afternoon._

He blinks, reads it again, just to make sure it’s real. She’s joking.

_Seriously?_

But she’s not joking, she’s telling him, _Yes. I just got an email update. Someone is stuck in traffic and delaying it more than twenty minutes created other scheduling conflicts, so… it got bumped to 4pm._

Robin takes it all back. The gods of inappropriate sex are alive and well and smiling down on him like the fucking sunshine.

_Regina. Love. The universe is telling us to fuck.  
_ _Please do not say no._

She cannot say no. (She will, he knows, but she _can’t_. Not when fate has seen to it to move their only real obstacle—if you don’t count her sense of propriety—and clear the way for a little afternoon nookie. It would be downright unfair)

And he expects the world to be unfair, today, he really does.

Except it’s not.

She texts him, _This is insane.,_ and his heart leaps.

_So yes then?_

Her reply has him tugging his underwear back up over his cock, springing out of bed and groping for a clean pair of jeans:

_Bring a condom._


	3. Chapter 3

Regina is fairly certain she’s never been this horny in her life. Which is saying something, because she and Robin once basically fucked for two days straight. And yet.

But she’s blaming the horniness for her unbelievable recklessness today. For her ever agreeing to this in the first place.

She has to be insane.

Has to be.

That’s what she tells herself as she ducks into the ladies room to slip her panties off and tuck them surreptitiously into her purse while she waits for her boyfriend to show up and _fuck her in the parking garage,_ oh God, what is she _doing?_

She’s insane.

She’d told him that – had messaged it to him after he’d very excitedly told her he’d text her when he was parked, and that she was incredible.

In fact, her exact words had been, _I’m insane. This is insane. You’ve addled my brain with sex._

To her utter lack of surprise, Robin had just flirted back with her: _Isn’t it grand?_ , to which she’d vehemently replied _NO._

But it is, secretly (and he knows that, no doubt). Because she’s had a very dull day, full of very dull work (which is what had allowed her mind to wander back to Friday in the first place), and now she’s feeling… decidedly not dull.

Her pulse is racing excitedly, and those panties she’d shoved into her purse were already damp. And now she’s walking back to her desk as casually as she can with her underwear stashed in her handbag and nothing beneath her skirt, and it feels naughty and thrilling, and… sexy.

She feels very sexy.

And also very exposed. Nobody knows her secret, but _she_ does, and suddenly it’s like she’s expecting everyone around her to catch her in the act with just a glimpse of her. Like there’s a neon sign over her head that reads REGINA’S NOT WEARING ANY PANTIES BECAUSE SHE JUST PROPOSITIONED A MAN FOR A QUICKIE IN THE PARKING LOT. 

(To be fair, he’d done the propositioning, but semantics…)

But there is no sign over her head, and when she passes Leo in the hallway and spends five minutes talking about his annoyance over the meeting being bumped back, the man has absolutely no idea that she’s going commando, or that the “coffee break” she tells him she’s going to go on just as soon as she sends a couple more emails is in fact just a booty call in the parking structure. But she still spends the entire conversation with her heart in her throat, keenly aware that she is misbehaving. That he would judge her harshly if he knew. That _Mother_ would be absolutely apoplectic if she was caught and word got back to her (and it would, Regina knows). And yet she can’t bring herself to care. In fact, the idea excites her.

Dr. Hopper would probably have a field day with this one (she should probably tell him about this at her next appointment – impulsive public indecency is probably something you should tell your therapist about. So they can help you _stop it)._

But she doesn’t have therapy until later tonight, and Robin is already on his way. So. It looks like nobody will be stopping her bad judgement but herself. And it would just be cruel to get Robin all excited about a nooner and then deny him. (And also, she really really wants to have sex with him right now.)

She’s back at her desk, trying and failing to focus on her emails, when her phone buzzes again. 

Two words: _I’m parked._

Regina’s heart starts to pump hard, adrenaline swooping in her belly and making her fingers shake as she texts back, _I’m parked on 4. Meet me by the elevator._

And then she reaches for her purse, swallowing against the sudden dryness in her mouth.

She’s really going to do this.

Right now.

She’s going to walk out the door, meet Robin on the fourth floor of the parking garage and _have sex in her car._

Regina is thirty-five years old, and she’s never had sex in her car, not once. Or anyone else’s for that matter. She has sex in proper places, like beds, and on couches, and, apparently, in back offices at bars (she really should talk to Archie about this; it must say something about her that she’s suddenly so thirsty for it that she’s lost all sense of decorum).

But she steps off the elevator on the fourth floor of the parking garage and Robin is already there, leaning against the wall, biting his lip, his gaze raking her down and up, and this is definitely happening. 

She lets out a laugh that might have a slim edge of hysteria to it, just as Robin greets her with a warm, “Hello, gorgeous.”

“What are we doing?” she asks him – whispers, really – as she walks in the direction of her car, her hand clenched tightly around the strap of her purse. 

“I believe we’re—”

“I know what we’re doing,” she hisses. “Don’t _say_ it.”

“Regina, love, there’s nobody here to hear it,” he points out, smiling at her with far too much amusement, as far as she’s concerned.

All she can think is thank God she’s parked relatively far from the elevator today; at least they’re not likely to be interrupted. 

Her pulse is pounding so hard she can _feel_ it as they pass parked car after parked car, and with every step, Regina can feel how wet she is. The swollen slickness of a morning spent _wanting_ him, and then teasing with him, and now this. Anticipating him.

She’s still convinced, “This is crazy,” but the idea of feeling him sink into her, of him filling her when she feels so needy and hyper aware of herself, it’s…

God, she wants to fuck him. 

But he’s grabbing her hand, halting their progress and waiting until she’s turned herself to face him. When she does, her brow furrowing, he reaches for her other hand and asks, “Do you still want to do this? It’s alright if you don’t; I won’t be cross with you.”

He says it with such sincerity that she knows he means it; he’s giving her an out, and there’s a part of her screaming to take it, because she doesn’t _do_ this. But other parts of her, lower-down parts, and reckless impulsive parts, are hollering that she absolutely should do this.

So she swallows thickly, and nods. Says, “I do want to.”

Robin gives her palms a squeeze and asks, “But?”

She’s about to ask _But what?_ , except that she can feel the tension coiling in her muscles, can feel the way she’s already gone a little sweaty, the way her pulse is jumping. Robin knows her well enough by now that she’s sure he can see it, too. So instead, she’s honest with him, and simply says, “I’m scared. I’m really excited, but I’m freaking out a little. My heart is pounding, and my palms are sweaty, and I’m so, _so_ ”—she drops her voice to barely a whisper—“wet. But I don’t _do_ things like this.”

Robin shrugs and says, “We could change that.” His thumbs rub back and forth over her palms, his voice going low and soothing and private (he even takes a step closer to her) as he asks, “Scared of what, love?”

“That we’ll get caught,” she whispers, and then she’s jerking a shoulder and adding, “That I…”

“We won’t get caught,” he assures her, with an amount of confidence he can’t possibly have justification for. “And that you what?”

Regina takes a breath and says, “That it’s wrong. That good girls don’t”—she stutters over the words a bit, hearing them as they come out—“do things like this.” 

Oddly enough, it’s just the push she needs. Because fuck “what good girls do”; that’s her mother talking. And she’ll be damned if she’s going to let Cora steal any more of her happiness. 

Regina straightens her spine a little and orders, “Get in the car. I’m going to fuck your brains out.”

“Yeah?” Robin asks, eyes lighting up with anticipation again.

Regina nods, and says, “Uh huh,” and then, “Quickly, before I lose my nerve.”

Robin drops her hands, gesturing for her to lead the way, and it’s only three more cars before she’s pressing the unlock button on her key fob and climbing into her back seat, scooting back enough so Robin can do the same. Once he’s inside and the door is shut behind him, Regina wastes no time in straddling his lap. She has to hike her skirt up a little to do it, and it occurs to her that it’s going to wrinkle, and then she’ll have to explain that. 

So she reaches back behind her to loosen the zipper, tugging the waist up her torso a little as Robin’s warm palms coast up her thighs and bunch the material even higher. She’s hoping with a little more give, the fabric won’t wrinkle _quite_ so much.

The last thing she wants is to Walk of Shame it into a meeting with Sidney Glass and her mother’s erstwhile business associate, not to mention her other coworkers. 

Robin’s hands find their way beneath the skirt, sliding all the way up to her ass, and then he squeezes her cheeks and moans softly.

“You are not wearing any knickers, love,” he tells her, as if there’s a chance she was unaware.

“I took them off,” she says with a shrug, reaching down to unbuckle his belt as his fingers grope and knead her ass. (She presses into the touch, that libido-driven part of her thrilling at the feel of his hands on her.) “I figured it’d be easier to do that in the bathroom than here.”

“I love it,” he praises, fingers sneaking inward. “I love when you’re a bad girl.”

He says it with a waggle of his brows and a cheeky grin, and Regina finds herself snickering, leaning in to press their brows together as she admits, “Me too.”

She wants to kiss him—badly—but when he tips his chin up to do just that, she pulls away, sitting back on his thighs and warning him, “Don’t kiss me. This lipstick stains – it’ll smear and I won’t be able to get it off.”

Robin’s lower lip juts out in a disappointed little pout, but he concedes, “Okay,” pushing her skirt up the rest of the way to her hips instead. His gaze drops down between her thighs and he licks his lips, his touch wandering toward her thigh, and in, and up, as she reaches between them again and guides his zipper down.

When his fingertips graze her clit, she moans softly in the back of her throat, her hips buckling slightly toward the touch, eagerly seeking out the friction she’s been dying for for hours. His fingers slip easily through her wetness, and then he’s the one moaning, murmuring, “God, babe, you really are soaked.”

“Mhmm,” she breathes, pushing at the waistband of his jeans, and lifting up enough that he can twist a little beneath her and help her work them and his boxer-briefs down to his thighs. His cock pops free and she clenches at the sight of him, thick and hard and hers. 

Regina licks her lips and murmurs, “Need you,” her confession making the corner of Robin’s mouth turn up. 

“I’m right here, babe,” he assures, his fingers stroking along her sex again. “Came all the way here just to give you what you need, hm?”

“Mmhmm,” she nods, “I’m a lucky girl.”

She leans in to kiss him on instinct before remembering that she can’t. The denial makes her want it even more, makes her hyper aware of her lips and how much they’re not being kissed at the moment. Her tongue swipes out to wet them again as she reaches for his cock, giving it a stroke and enjoying the way it makes his lashes flutter slightly. And then she asks, “You alright with skipping the foreplay?”

Robin laughs quietly and nods, telling her, “I think we already had it.”

More than, she thinks. She is _ready._

So she tells him, “Good,” and then asks, “Condom?”

It’s in his jeans pocket, so it takes a moment to fish it out, then unwrap it and roll it on, and then Regina is reaching for him again, shifting a little on her knees until she’s lined up just right to take him inside her. 

When she sinks down onto Robin’s cock, it’s with no resistance, and the feel of him filling her up is so divine that her head drops back on a guttural moan of satisfaction. _This_ is what she’s needed all morning. She takes him to the hilt, sinks down until she’s sitting flush against his lap, and she feels his hands squeeze her ass as he mutters, “Fuck that was hot.”

She lifts her head again to look at him, her breath already gone a little deeper, a little heavier, and suddenly nothing else matters but this. Not the security cameras and the prospect of getting caught, or her rumpled skirt, or what is or is not considered proper behavior. 

All she cares about for the next few minutes is riding him until they both come.

She breathes, “I need you,” and Robin’s grip tightens, pulling her impossibly closer as he urges, _Take me, then._

And boy does she.

The encouragement is all she needs to start bouncing up and down on him, riding him at a quick, eager pace, and God, it’s good, fuck, just what she needed. Him, them, the feel of him inside her again and again and again, fuck, she wants _more_. She plants one hand on the ceiling for leverage and fucks down harder against him, thrilling in the way he moans her name and drops his head back to the headrest, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows. 

He’s squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, but when he opens them again and lifts his head, he mutters, “Wanna see your tits,” and then reaches for the buttons of her top. He flips them open one, two, three, four, then curses softly at the sight of her, his hands stealing beneath the fabric to cup her through thin red lace. He finds her nipples with a practiced hand and gives them each a squeeze, making her whine and fuck down harder against him as he asks, “Do you choose your—fuck, mm, babe—choose you underwear to vex me?”

“No,” she laughs, giving her hips a few lazy swirls as she reminds him, “I didn’t think I’d—mmm—see you today.”

Robin’s hips rock up into hers as she rocks down against his, and Regina’s thighs shake with the pleasure of everything lining up _just_ right.

“Then who are you wearing lacy red knickers for?” he teases her with another delightful squeeze at her breasts.

Her jaw drops, the breath whooshing out of her before she’s able to answer, “Me. And red goes—fuck, Robin—best under w-white.”

HIs brow furrows, head tilting a little at that, and she could explain to him the finer points of women’s lingerie, but they’re on a bit of a time crunch and quite frankly she wants to be coming, not talking about undertones and intimate fashions. 

So she orders, “Fuck me deeper,” and presses both hands to the ceiling to brace herself as she rocks her hips. 

Robin nods and urges, “Lean back a little, babe,” his hands falling to her knees and tugging them a little wider. “Take me deep like you need.”

She plants her hands on his thighs, leaning back as he grips her hips and presses up. The first thrust is a little awkward, but then she shifts just so, and he shifts just so, and the next thrust against each other is fucking fantastic. He thumps up against her g-spot in a way that makes her let out a very unladylike, “ _Fuck_ yes!”

She doesn’t have quite as much leverage to move with her thighs splayed wider like this, but what she lacks in range of motion, Robin more than makes up for. The pleasure is electric, stunning, rising quick and shocking inside her as they find that spot again, and again, and again, and “Fuck, oh God, don’t stop, Robin, I’m— _unh!_ ”

She’s so close, suddenly so fucking close and God, she needs to come so bad, has needed to all morning. So she shifts her weight to one hand and reaches the other down to rub at her clit, and that’s all it takes. A few seconds of that blissful friction combined with the steady tempo of his cock inside her, and she’s coming, crying out—she’s _loud_ , and can’t be bothered not to be as she shouts, “Fuck!” and “OH!” and “OhGodjustlike—fuckohOH!”

It makes her thighs quake and her belly clench, has her fisting her hair and then pushing herself up straighter again, until their torsos touch, until she can hear all his grunts and whispered curses. 

Her voice shakes as she gasps, “God, Robin, _fuck_ ,” and then he’s gripping her waist, using the leverage of his feet on the floor panel to fuck up into her harder, and God, this is really fucking good. 

She wants _more_ , wants more of him, impossibly more of him. So she presses her palm up to the ceiling again and presses down, opens her thighs just a little more until he’s driving up into her in short, deep thrusts that make her eyes squeeze shut, her jaw dropping, fuck, she might come again just from this.

She vaguely hears him say something about taking him deep, but she’s too fuckstruck to really hear it. She just nods and moans, and then he’s grunting, “Fuck!” and “God, gonna come in you,” and “Fucking—fan—tas—oh!”

He presses up hard into her as he comes, his fingertips digging into her ass as he tenses and moans deep in his chest. And then he sinks back into the comfy back seat of her Benz, and she slumps forward against him, their chests heaving together as they struggle to get their breath back.

That was… 

Holy shit.

That was…

Wow.

“God, that was good,” she pants, and she feels Robin’s chest jerk as he laughs against her, one hand lifting clumsily to trace through her hair. 

“You were fucking fantastic,” he praises. “You should get all worked up for me every day.”

Regina snorts a little and sits up, swallowing at the feeling of him still buried deep inside her. She looks him in the eye and says, “This was a one-time thing, Romeo. We are never doing this at my office, ever again.”

“Technically, we’re not in your office,” Robin points out, his hand sliding down from her hair, over her neck, her collar, down to cup her breast through that lacy bra again. 

“You know what I mean,” she insists, leaning in and pressing a whisper-light kiss against his lips, careful not to smudge. “So I hope it was worth it.”

“God, yes,” he sighs, smiling dopily at her. “This may actually last me until next Friday.”

The reminder of the drought ahead of them makes her pout, her voice dry and only a little breathless now as she murmurs, “Don’t remind me.”

“I’m right next door,” he reminds. “And all yours.”

He says it so earnestly that she can’t help but smile at him, shaking her head and running her palms up and down his arms. Just to enjoy the feel of them for a moment. Just because she can.

And then she sighs, and admits, “I should really get back to work.”

Robin grunts, and drops his hands down to give her ass one final squeeze. “You’ll still think of me in that meeting, yeah?”

“Oh, definitely,” Regina promises, with a naughty little glint in her eye.

Regina returns to her desk several minutes later, after they’ve righted all their clothes and disposed of the condom, and parted ways with another barely-there kiss. Her knees are still a bit wobbly, and her skirt is admittedly just a little wrinkled (not so much that it’s obvious, thank God), and she’s fairly certain she’s still coming down from her flushed, healthy, post-orgasm glow.

But she finds that she feels… powerful. Naughty, but in a _good_ way. 

She’s gotten away with a midday quickie in the parking lot, and nobody’s the wiser.

And if she happens to leave her panties in her purse for the rest of the day rather than slipping back into them at the first opportunity, well, nobody’s the wiser about that either.


End file.
